For the Women with Walls Around Our Hearts. And for the Men Who Love Us.

winning-a-womans-heart

There’s been an awfully lot of talk about a wall lately. And not the Pink Floyd variety. But there may be an unassailable wall much closer to home….regardless of where you live.

The one around a woman’s heart.

pretty-wall

If there is one quality women value among each other, it’s strength. Women esteem strong women; they command our respect. There is an oft unspoken appreciation among our ilk for those who can master the juxtaposition of femininity and fortitude.

Unfortunately, we often mistake being well-fortified for being strong.

We take up brick masonry at an early age.

We are wall-builders.

wall-with-window

This wall is our response to hurt. Father hurt, abuse, rejection, mother hurt, abandonment, loss, being devalued or objectified. Our little girl selves often lack the skills to respond to emotional trauma in a healthy way, so many of us withdraw behind a barricade camouflaged by a winning smile.

Over time our construction technologies become more sophisticated, catalyzed by more hurt until…

…there is no passage in or out.

wall-and-vase

I have been a woman living behind a wall of her own creation. I liked it there. It felt safe. Really, really safe. Until I realized I was trapped. And realized that “safe” is no way to live a life when it requires us to forfeit love and connection. Scary, scary love and connection.

So, fellas, where does that leave you and your barricaded beauty?

Well, I would send you to a military strategist who knows a little something about the destruction of walls and the capture of walled cities.

[Enter stage right, JOSHUA].

Joshua leads the Israelite army to defeat an impenetrable Jericho with the most unorthodox battle plan in the history of ever. But he is successful so we can probably learn a thing or two if we’re open to it.  I suggest reading the first six chapters of Joshua, which I’ve linked above, but I’ll give you a quick recap of what goes down:

  • Chapter 1: God tells Joshua to be strong and courageous four different times; He tells him to be careful to obey God’s Word, and He tells him to get ready to take the land God has already given him. God tells Joshua in advance that he’s going to win, but he has to go fight for the land and take possession of it.
  • Chapter 2: Joshua sends spies into Jericho to assess the vibe and gather intelligence.
  • Chapter 3: God tells His people to “consecrate” themselves because He’s about to do some crazy amazing stuff among them. Then He tells them to cross the Jordan River at flood stage. As soon as they step in, the water stands up in a heap for all the people to cross on dry land.
  • Chapter 4: While the crossing is happening, God tells them to do a curious thing. He has them remove stones from the middle of the riverbed and take them to the other side to build a monument. The monument is to remind them of that crazy amazing crossing God provided and is to be a tool for telling their children about God’s faithfulness.
  • Chapter 5: THEN. God has Joshua circumcise all the men. Fun times, man. And afterwards they celebrate the Passover.
  • Chapter 6: God downloads the battle plan to Joshua. They are to march around the city once each day for six days and then on the seventh they march seven times, give a long blast on the trumpets, yell, and the walls come tumbling down. They rush in, take the city, and God keeps His promise.

Following Joshua’s lead, this is where you come in…

couple-with-books

Acknowledge that fighting for a woman’s heart is scary business.

God doesn’t keep reassuring Joshua in Chapter 1 to be encouraging; He does it, repeatedly, because Joshua is afraid. What if she rejects you? What if she thinks you’re dumb? What if she embarrasses you? Acknowledge that those concerns feel like real obstacles but don’t allow them to deter your efforts. What you stand to gain is far greater than what you may lose.

Preparation is as vital as execution. 

God tells Joshua to prepare to take the land He has given them. Dudes, this is a battle that will take time and thought and preparation. But, if the lady in question is your wife, there is no doubt her heart is a land the Lord has given you. But you may have to fight to take possession of it. Here are some ways you can prepare to win…

  1. Be a good listener. Be careful to obey God’s Word. The admonition God gives Joshua applies to you.
  2. Do your homework. Joshua sends the spies. You, too, need to assess the vibe and gather intelligence about your lady. Be smart.
  3. Believe. Allow God to grow your faith. The crossing of the Jordan is to remind Joshua and his men that God can do what He says He can do, but they have to exercise big faith – before the battle – to believe God will come through.
  4. Clean up. Consecrate yourself. God tells the army to cleanse themselves before Him, so He can work through them. “Consecrate” means to be set apart for a special task. Guys, the state of your own house is directly related to God’s willingness to work through you. To shoot straight, if you’re looking at porn or blatantly indulging other sin, you stand little to no chance of winning her heart. Even if she is totally unaware of your choices.
  5. Trim down. Aggressively cut away what He says to get rid of. The significance of circumcision was that God’s people would be set apart, different, than other unbelieving people. This “cutting away” symbolized the removal of what was unnecessary. Honestly ask yourself, “What is God saying I need to remove from my life?” It may be a friend, an attitude, a hobby that detracts from your family, an addiction, an ambition or work schedule that makes you absent.
  6. Celebrate good times; C’mon. Remember God’s provision and faithfulness along the way. This is the point of the stones from the Jordan’s riverbed and the celebration of Passover. Before we have to take a giant step of faith, our courage is bolstered by remembering all the ways God has provided and kept His promises in the past. Intentionally, remind yourself and commemorate God’s faithfulness to you personally as you diligently pursue the heart of your gal.

hipster-couple

Follow the battle plan.

Do what He says. Because He will tell you how to crumble the wall. A walled city was extremely difficult to conquer; it usually took a long time. The attacker would often cut the supply of provisions to the city and wait to starve out the inhabitants. And this usually happened with great casualty to the outside force. That’s not how this went for Joshua. He conquered the city in record time with what, by all standards, was a foolish and silly plan. He will tell you how to dismantle the wall around your lady’s heart, but you have to be willing to follow the plan. Even if it seems foolish and silly and ill-advised.

And if all of this feels too daunting and heavy, according to John Eldridge, this is the kind of stuff you were made for. In his book, Wild at Heart, he asserts men are built with three desires; men want a battle to fight, an adventure to live, and a beauty to rescue. He and his wife, Stasi, also attribute three innate desires to women; women want to be fought for, to share an adventure, and a beauty to unveil.

men-want

Culture likes to harp on the differences between men and women, baiting a continual gender battle. However, I am struck by the complementary nature of our desires; in this I see a divine design, an image of how we are meant to thrive in relationship with each other.

So, good fellow, you were made for this.

men-want-2

…and may the walls come tumbling down.

If you’d like to read more, you can check out a post about my time behind the wall, my thoughts on how a woman wants to be pursued, and the most popular post on our blog, Passive Men and Overbearing Women.

The Other Donald Trump. The Other Hillary Clinton. And the Other You.

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I exhaled as the harry of the morning landed heavily in the leather armchair. I looked around without really seeing, allowing the warmth from the cardboardy cup to hug me. Thankful she hadn’t arrived. Thankful to be on time. Thankful for the balm of Ben Rector stilling the air around me. Yet a bit apprehensive….the curse of the introvert.

I closed my eyes to disappear for a moment. When I opened them, I saw her standing at the counter. I stared without expression, intrigued. And a bit disturbed.

I stood to greet her, biting the inside of my cheek like I do when I am uncomfortable. I tried to talk down the tears swelling my vision as she ambled in my direction.

If I looked anxious, she looked terrified. And beaten. Her hair thick and long and in need of a wash. She was inked: a flower on her wrist, a quote on her forearm, the word “truth” in lowercase letters behind her ear – visible as she tucked her hair. A tiny silver ring bit her nose, juxtaposing the round face, full cheeks, dotted by a mole just above the corner of her mouth.

Her copper eyes were hard with distrust but they lacked boldness. More distant than belligerent. She studied the table, rolling a string from the seam of her jeans between her fingers. When she looked up, she fixed her gaze on the others – watching their talking and their laughing, their texting, and their writing. She rarely looked at me in brief snatches.

Her discomfort assuaged my own as I smiled too big and tried too hard to ease her.

Striking me as a gal who wanted to skip the preliminaries, I gently asked her to tell me her story.

She left me. Having transported herself far away, only her voice stayed behind. She told of abuse. Every kind. Abandonment. She gave a sad laugh and remarked, “Turns out, I’m quick to believe promises that no one plans to keep. I guess you could say I’m slow like that.” There were lots of relationships. Lots of drugs and alcohol. Lots of disappointment and hurt and plenty of bad choices to go around. She talked on as though she had forgotten I was there.

I willed my own blood to become steel to keep from dismantling right before her eyes. Every molecule of me rejected her words. There was no home for them in me.

She was me.

The me I would have been under different circumstances. The me minus privilege. And care and protection and Jesus.

///////


We only know the “me” that we are, but there is a you and a me of harder living. A less shiny version of ourselves. The one that could have been carved from disadvantage and dirty, dark rooms.

We did nothing to affect the conditions of our birth. Yet many of us have mastered the swagger of entitlement we feel due our race or our tax bracket or our education.

And we are comfortable in our sad delusion.

If I had been born to a mother who sold me for sex at the age of 11, I – Cookie – would very likely be a prostitute, addicted to drugs, who had many abortions and children with different fathers. Or worse.

Would I disgust you?

Frighten you?

Would you help me?

Hypotheticals aside, this is real life in our area.

You and I can only see the world based on the finite configuration of blessings and hardships unique to our experience. And that only represents the smallest, slightest fraction of all the possibilities out there. We blab our voices and roll through life as if our window on the world is the same one others look through. IT’S NOT.

It’s not.

We only move beyond being tiny, whiny creatures when we will close our mouths and open our hearts to understand the other histories people bring to today.

Otherwise we are prisoners of our ignorance. Shackled to a small world.

Our tenure on this ball of dirt could have gone very differently for me and you, privileged friend. Is compassion – and sometimes gentle silence – too costly a toll?

Dear Everyday Heroes, Thank You for Giving Us Hope in Ourselves…


national-guard-flooding

As I flicked my thumb to propel my Facebook feed forward, an image halted my scroll. Tessie Smith, hero and local paramedic involved in a horrific wreck while responding to a call in March, was ascending the Ravenel Bridge in Charleston. To honor the fallen first responders of 9/11. In another clip, she was ringing the bell at the crest of the climb.

All the tears. Every last one of them.

Overcomers always win my heart. Because they wreck me with their stubborn courage. My heroes are scrappy, uncelebrated people. Marginalized people. People whose smile cost more than yours and mine. Resolute people.

We are wretchedly spoiled in the land of opportunity. Luxury has been assimilated into our DNA as an adaptive trait. A slow internet connection, an antique IPhone model, a town without a Starbucks or Target and we are crying injustice. But we were crafted from sterner stuff. Less whiny stuff.

chemo-patient

In the raw fabric of our composition we were made to scrape out a living in severe circumstances. To invite a fire out of nothing. To hustle a meal with our own dirty hands. We were made for work that required every calorie we consumed and then some. We were made to lay our heads down with bodies wrung dry by physical exhaustion. We were made with strong backs and an even stronger spirit of survival.

The life we now live is incongruent with how we were assembled.

I’m not complaining. I’m currently nursing a heavenly coffee drink, swaddled in a comfy blanket, sitting on my derriere, pecking away while the more primitive me would be out gathering roots for dinner.

But there are consequences to our plum living. Obesity. Anxiety. Entitlement. Isolation. Purposelessness. Vanity. Injurious ambition. Sometimes I really do wonder if we have traded up. We have become a frightfully vacuous people. Which is why we are so stirred by underdogs. Overcomers. Heroes. They demonstrate an ancient strength that reverberates deep in our bones and stings our eyes.

fireman

This was powerfully on display in my area during the aftermath of Hurricane Matthew. I could weep right this second thinking about all the linemen – many from far away states – working to rehab our crippled city. The police, the firemen, the National Guard, the EMTs. The beautiful others helping with tree removal, food, and water.

They exhibit the finer things in us. Heroes remind us that when suffering slices through the insulation of convenience in our lives the indomitable human spirit is exposed. They rise to the challenge of adversity and allow us to see with our very own eyes what we hope is within us. We all wonder what we are made of, don’t we?

They give us hope in ourselves.

To some extent, it is this thing that draws me to jail. As I share smiles and hugs and tears with the female inmates, the resilience of the soul is baffling and brilliant. As the team and I enter behind heavy, locking doors, we step into a concentration of hurt. Abuse of every sort. Loss. Abandonment. Destructive cycles. Emotional negligence. Egregious crimes. The looming prospect of years in prison, yet they smile. Yet they hope. Yet they thank a God who loved them enough to save them. From themselves.

We are indeed made of sterner stuff than we imagine.

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James Neil Hollingworth aptly states, “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.” Yes. It’s not that our heroes are impervious to fear; it’s that they aren’t deterred by it.

Hats off to you, beloved overcomers. Martyrs of our faith, thank you for inciting our conviction by your willingness to die. Ruby Bridges, thank you for your courageous six-year-old self desegregating William Frantz Elementary School in New Orleans in 1960. Veterans. Parents of medically fragile children. Moms suffering post-partum depression. Those who beat addiction and rise up out of the humblest circumstances. Cancer survivors. Widows. Children who have lost parents. Little ones who learn differently. Community servants who risk their lives. Formerly trafficked women. First generation college students. Those who are able to doggedly persist in love despite the sharp discord of the day.

We celebrate you. And your stubborn courage.

Thank you for calling us to a higher standard of fortitude and tenacity. Thank you for giving us hope in ourselves.

[Images: Chuck Simmins, Liz Westbizarrellama, Tony Reily]

Revealing the Gritty, Grubby, Unpopular Truth about Grace You Need to Know Now

woman by shore

 I’ve been in one fight in my life. In college. A friend was encircled by several, on the ground in the dark receiving blows. Hurting, outnumbered people evoke a primal reaction in me.

May I be so honest as to admit – besides the defense of my children – nothing incites a fight in me like arrogant smugness towards someone else’s pain.

My spirit animal is a bantam rooster.

bantam rooster

With that being said, I try to stay out of fist fights these days. You know, they’re not so fashionable on the forty-three year old wife, mom, Jesus-lover scene.

I try to fight smarter instead. With words. Not angry ones but healing ones. Under the banner of love, understanding, and grace.

And I find that grace is a widely misunderstood concept. You see, it doesn’t own a set of dress clothes. That’s why we don’t often see it in our churches. It’s not hipster or preppy. It doesn’t own a cardigan and can’t afford Starbucks.

It’s bloody. Dirty. It has mud under its fingernails and scraped knees and elbows. At its inception, its back was sliced to ribbons and its temple stabbed by thorns.

We don’t recognize it because it’s unlikely to cross its legs on a pew or cushioned seat. It inhabits ditches and cells and tear-soaked pillows and shattered hearts.

Have you seen it?

There came a point in my life when God loved me too much to allow me to continue in haughty self-righteousness. That’s a painful correction, friends. A trip behind the woodshed that I don’t recommend. When I tell you I have a healthy fear of the Lord, you can know it is because I know his discipline.

And his grace. His beautiful, expensive, muddy, bloody grace.

This is what He taught me…


Grace is not weak or timid.

Grace isn’t passive. It is a wise restraint, a love, a compassion fueled by an awareness of one’s own depravity and the generosity of God.


The only requirement for grace is that it is undeserved.

If grace were ever deserved it would be a reward not a gift. For instance, people who withhold grace infuriate me. Self-righteousness is the offense Jesus spoke most harshly against. BUT. The character of grace means I must extend grace to those who withhold it, or I am indicted for the very same thing I accuse them of. Grace must always be circular and lavish and unwarranted.


The grace we fail to extend today may be the grace we need extended to us tomorrow.

There is a just economy to the administration of grace. I don’t recommend taking the field trip to learn this one.


Grace doesn’t mean there are no consequences for sin.

But it does mean correction doused in love, compassion, and forgiveness. God uses consequences to change us, not to punish us. Transformation is always the goal. And if we are meting out consequences for poor choices that should be our motive as well. You get this parents……we dole out extra chores or restrictions to teach our children a lesson or to prompt a change in attitude or behavior. Scrubbing baseboards as the highway to a kinder disposition towards an annoying little brother.


Christians need grace. A LOT.

We can think we needed grace when we were scalawag heathens and that we are holy givers of grace after conversion. That would be true if the process of our perfection happened instantly. Unfortunately, your route and my route to perfection may include a ditch or two. They’re brimming with spiritual value.

From The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning, a former Franciscan priest turned vagabond evangelist…

There is a myth flourishing in the church today that has caused incalculable harm: once converted, fully converted. In other words, once I accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, an irreversible, sinless future beckons. Discipleship will be an untarnished success story; life will be an unbroken upward spiral toward holiness. Tell that to poor Peter who, after three times professing his love for Jesus on the beach and after receiving the fullness of the Spirit at Pentecost, was still jealous of Paul’s apostolic success.

Often I have been asked, ‘Brennan, how is it possible that you became an alcoholic after you got saved?’ It is possible because I got battered and bruised by loneliness and failure; because I got discouraged, uncertain, guilt-ridden and took my eyes off Jesus. Because the Christ-encounter did not transfigure me into an angel. Because justification by grace through faith means I have been set in right relationship with God, not made the equivalent of a patient etherized on a table.


I am the worst of sinners. And so are you.

If we want a sin scale, the only accurate and biblical truth is to recognize, like Paul, that we are the worst. The safest and truest posture towards sin is acknowledging that we are capable of committing every single one.


We can’t fully grasp grace until we have needed it more than air to breathe.

Trust me, a girl doesn’t name her ministry Tenacious Grace because it has a nice ring to it. There is a depth to God’s grace that can only be experienced when lapping it out of beggarish desperation.


Grace is expensive.

Jesus died to broker grace. We are not to cheapen it with quibbling hesitance. Being a purveyor of grace will be costly. It may require a sacrifice of indignation on our parts. It may hurt to extend grace. That is consistent with how it was purchased.

 
Your opinions/feelings, my opinions/feelings have no bearing on grace.

Grace is not optional or selective. It cannot be. To make it such is to mar his sacrifice with our bloated self-worship.


God won’t stop until we have been changed by his grace. 

God is ever wooing us with his grace. He initiates daily encounters with his beautiful, expensive, muddy, bloody grace.

Daily brushes with his tenacious grace.



[Rooster Image: Marji Beach]

How to Protect Yourself From Social Media Sting…

social media banner

Why do you lock your doors at night?

I’ll tell you why.

Because it would be bizarre to awaken, parched, at 3:17 a.m. and find your neighbor, David, in his boxers enjoying an Oreo in your kitchen.

Or to discover an old high school friend catching up on episodes of The Blacklist in your living room.

Sure, we want to bar the bad people who’ll make off with our TVs and wedding rings while we dream, but truly our objective is to keep everyone out.

And no one’s offended by this measure of protection and privacy.

If Emily, Ross’s mom from your son’s baseball team, rolls by at 10:42 to rant about the coach’s apparent disregard of her little man’s awe-inspiring athleticism, she’s not going to be angry to find your door locked.


Too bad we haven’t created similar protections and privacies about who we allow into our heads.

According to an article published last year, Americans typically check social media 17 times a day, “meaning at least once every waking hour, if not more.” And even more surprisingly, folks ranging in age from 25-54 were found to boast the highest usage. Not teens.

Another source cites that the average American internet user spends 1.72 hours a day on social media alone. That’s almost one day of waking hours per week.

It’s no wonder I can’t get anything done.

 london woman on phone

On a scale of 1-10, how much pain are you in?

The symptoms are as varied as opinions about Donald Trump. Social media burn can present as anxiety:

  • Should I have posted that?
  • Was that oversharing?surprised girl on phone
  • That was really funny, but was it inappropriate?
  • What if people misinterpret what I meant?
  • What if my post makes people angry?
  • What if no one likes what I posted?

The sting can manifest itself as insecurity:

  • Oh look, their marriage is dreamy.
  • Their vacation is extravagant.
  • Her legs are skinny.
  • Her children are beautiful.
  • Her dinner is healthy and colorful.
  • Her dog is so well-behaved and photogenic.

Overexposure can look like anger:

  • [A slow, guttural growl…] I CAN’T BELIEVE SHE SAID THAT [fast typing fingers, tapping out highly emotional, purely opinionated response]!!!
  • Followed by Anxiety symptoms listed above.

Finally, it can look like lethargy. I’ve noticed when I’ve spent too much time wearing my thumb out scrolling through feeds, I just feel yuck. Like my head is so stuck in other people’s lives that I’m not living my own. I feel less present in the moment with the people in front of me. I feel lazy and restless on my insides, and I don’t love that.

Social media sting targets whatever is crippled in us at any given moment.  A healthy relationship with Facebook or Twitter or Instagram or SnapChat is only possible to the extent that our insides are healthy.

Get out!

One way of protecting yourself from overexposure (and the internal yuckness that can result) is to wait as long as possible before opening social media each day. If you turn off the alarm, stretch, yawn, rub your eyes, and grab your phone, this is what you invite into your morning…

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All of us.

We’re all there.

With our loud opinions and our quiz results for which Elvis song is our life anthem (I’m Blue Suede Shoes, btw) and our food pictures and our biting sarcasm and our darling animal videos and our belabored political agendas.

And you haven’t even had coffee yet.

Don’t unlock the door until much later, friend. Because once we pile in, it is impossible to shove us out. Your thoughts have been hijacked by beach photos and hilarious mom ecards. Oh great, now you’re crying. You watched the footage of military personnel returning home, walking through the airport when an impromptu standing ovation erupts from all bystanders, didn’t you?

Your focus is now shot. At least you didn’t have mascara on yet… Silver lining.

And for the love of Mark Zuckerberg, TURN OFF NOTIFICATIONS.freedom screen shot

You can also delete the social media apps from your phone, so we, the masses, aren’t crowding under your elbow in the car or creating a spectacle at the grocery store checkout.

Two days ago I was introduced to Freedom, an app that blocks social media, other apps, even the entire internet from your phone. You can choose the applications you want to restrain and then schedule the block to create a distraction-free time period.

For instance, I write best in the mornings. But if I ever open social media the first time…..even to schedule a post for later……my focus is gobbled up. If I wanted to block those applications from 5:00 am – 1:00 pm, I can build a wall of protection around my most productive writing time.

Self-discipline would accomplish the same thing, but sometimes we aren’t so good at that, huh?

 beuatiful woman with phone

Unfollowing is not unkind.

We are not obligated to receive everything everybody distributes. I genuinely enjoy connecting with people on social media, and I very rarely unfollow or unfriend anyone. But if I notice a recurring negative response in me to an individual’s posts, I will create a boundary that actually protects my ability to like that person.

I will mute them on Twitter. I don’t unfollow them, but I don’t see their posts in my feed.

I will unfollow them on Facebook. This is not the same as unfriending; when I unfollow, again their posts just don’t show up in my feed.

I have even used a secondary app, Primary, to hide people on my Instagram feed.

And – to be honest – in 99% of the cases where I have constructed a social media boundary, I have been the source of the issue. I’ve been envious of a person. asian girl on phoneOr too close-minded to graciously handle where their opinions differ from my own, or simply because they keep my eyes and perspective pointed towards the past when my feet and my head are moving forward. To be honest, the last reason has been the most compelling motivation for me.

I love the people I have removed from my feeds, but sometimes protection, with the right heart, has to trump accessibility.

So, if you’re feeling the burn, get these people out of your space. Lock the doors. Kick David out in his boxers with his Oreo. And your classmate with her feet propped up on your coffee table and the remote in hand. ‘Cause that’s just invasive. And weird.

[Images: Yoel Ben-Avraham, Antoine KRoberto TrombettaMichael Dornbierer, Bob Vonderau, and Tokyoform ]